Lazy Blood: a powerful page-turning thriller

by Ross Greenwood

  12

  As they paced to school Will felt as if the world was a three metre circle around him, the only sound the scuff of trainers as they walked. When they approached the gates, Carl came belting over, but stopped fifty metres from them, as if they were carrying a big sign declaring ‘PLAGUE’, written in dripping, red blood. He just kept looking from one face to another as they approached. Darren stopped in front of him and said through gritted teeth, ‘Freja’s dead. Car accident. Let’s not talk about it.’ Darren and Aiden walked past him into the school, leaving Will to put his arm round a bewildered Carl.

  They were virtually the last to get their results, being over an hour late. They had to go to their home room, where they were waiting in sealed envelopes. Mr Wheeler was waiting, compassion oozing from every pore. He didn’t say anything just handed them their results. They all looked at each other and opened them at the same time, as agreed, what seemed now a millennium ago.

  Will’s fingers felt like a big bunch of misshapen bananas as he fumbled his letter open and had to stare hard at the paper to get the information to go in. He had passed them all, even scraping a C in maths. It didn’t seem to mean anything. Carl broke down next to him. Will suspected he would be the only person in the country to get ten straight A’s and sob like a baby receiving its first jabs.

  Darren threw his letter on the floor, said, ‘Let’s get pissed,’ and strode out of the room, some kind of decision made. Aiden stooped down and picked Darren’s letter up and gently helped the weeping Carl to the door. Will followed but was stopped as he was about to leave the room by the teacher calling his name.

  ‘Will. I’m so sorry for you all. There are going to be some tough times ahead. You are the one with the sense in the outfit. Try and hold them together. Grief affects everyone in different ways, there is no wrong or right way, but we are all here to help.’

  Will nodded. The left side of his cheek edged up a few millimetres in an attempt at a smile, before following his friends out into the sunshine. He appreciated the gesture but in a way wished he hadn’t said it. When he told them all later, it almost seemed like he had told them to do what they liked and blame it on bereavement.

  As he joined Aiden, he noted Carl getting into a car and Darren running down the street.

  ‘Where are they going?’ he asked. As Aiden replied, Will realised it was the first thing he had heard him say that morning.

  ‘His parents said they are taking him out for a posh dinner to celebrate. He tried to get out of it but they were not to be refused. I suspect they knew what the alternative was. Darren said he had something to do and would meet us at the pub shortly.’

  The only pub they could get consistently served in without presenting fake I.D’s that would not stand close scrutiny, was in Eastfield, a fairly rough area on the edge of the town centre. As they walked together Will searched for the words to talk to Aiden.

  ‘I’m sorry mate. I just don’t know what to say, or think.’

  Aiden put an arm around him and sniffed his reply. ‘You have been a great mate Will. You are one of the good guys. Just hang around, that’s all.’

  * * *

  Will looked up at the rusty sign for the Anne Boleyn Public House as they arrived. She too looked like she had received some terrible news. As pubs went it was a terrible one. It was big and roomy, but sparse and cold. It had little alcoves and booths for quiet chats and a room out the back with a wooden floor for dancing. You walked into a small entry hall and then could go left to the lounge, or right to the bar. Will had never seen anyone in the lounge. He had never seen anyone on the dance floor for that matter.

  Trade was poor and the beer was flat. The landlord was a drunk and quite happy to serve them in their uniforms, never mind quiz them on their ages. The décor was foul, unloved and bathed in nicotine and tar. The carpet made a noise like Velcro as you walked across it and most went home for a shit, so basic were the toilets.

  It had its good points though. No teacher would be found here. It had a great pool table and the landlord’s daughter Angela was a short-skirted vision of something forbidden.

  Angela was serving, batting her eyelids and bending provocatively as she served them three lifeless lagers. They moved to a booth and Will smiled as Aiden purposely left Darren the pint with no head on it.

  They both supped the millimetre of froth off the top of their pints, Will wondering not for the first time if there were better things to spend his money on. They had all taken jobs at the Tesco superstore in town after term finished and were saving up some money. The plan was to have a have a huge blow-out after the results came out but Will and Darren had been sacked from the bakery department two weeks back for seeing who could make the biggest jam donut with the electric jam pump. Amazing how big they could get really, but a couple had exploded and the manager caught them creasing over with laughter, jam dripping off their faces, their uniforms, the walls and the ceiling.

  As security walked them off, they passed Aiden who was crouching behind the deli-counter stuffing slices of ham into his mouth. When they told him they had got the boot, he just took his hat and apron off and walked out after them, giving a fond last look to the cheese section. Will suspected their profits would have improved dramatically after their eighteen stone mouse had left the premises.

  ‘What grades did you get? Will asked.

  I got C’s in everything, except French, Religious Education and Pottery. All fails. I’m disappointed with pottery,’ Aiden laughed. His various pottery projects were placed in his parent’s garden amongst the flowers and bushes, like strange sentinels. Will had thought his huge gargoyle was amazing, until he was told it was supposed to be Dracula. It now had pride of place in their vegetable patch and like all ineffective scarecrows was covered in bird shit.

  Aiden opened Darren’s letter up. He beamed.

  ‘Cool. He got enough to get in for A-Levels too. We will all be together.’

  As he folded Darren’s letter back into its envelope Darren slid into the booth next to them with a pleased look on his face.

  ‘Now what?’ Aiden groaned.

  He paused, exaggeratedly lit a cigarette, and leaned back.

  ‘I’ve been to the army recruiting office. I’m going to sign up. The Parachute Regiment. Just like my dad. Operation Desert Shield man, I’m going to do my bit.’

  It seemed forced to Will. Like he had made a snap decision at a crazy time. Maybe it was just his way of trying to take some control of the nightmare they had found themselves immersed in. This was the time he would later realise was when he should have mentioned going round to see Darren’s dad, but for some reason he didn’t. Weird how he was thinking of that and not the departure of his friend to some far-off country or the tragic death of Freja, but it was like he couldn’t grind the proper emotion out of himself.

  Aiden however looked stunned. He simply asked, ‘When?’

  ‘I’m not sure. There’s a load of tests, medical, intelligence and fitness. My dad has to give me permission too.’ He looked away. ‘I can’t go back to school. What’s the point? It’s all bullshit.’

  When he looked back, blazing anger shone out sharply from his face, like a sun flare and then was gone.

  Will looked at Aiden and saw his big friend’s face fall. For a brief few minutes they had forgotten what had happened. He knew Aiden was now thinking he was losing two people.

  Darren drained his pint and stalked back to the bar, pulling hard on his cigarette. Will had a sense it was going to get messy, but if this wasn’t the day for that, he would never know what was. He looked over as Darren was served. The barmaid was giving Darren a real eyeful of her cleavage as she poured the drinks and for the first time Darren was responding. He took a five pound note out of his back pocket and slid it between her ample breasts. She smiled and went to the till. She got his change and walked back in front of him. Never taking her eyes off his, she wedged the change back where the note had been.

  Slowly Will t
urned his head to the side, praying to the absent God that Aiden wasn’t watching. Instead he timed it as Aiden dragged his eyes away from the loaded scene, and wide-eyed, looked straight at Will. And time stood still.

  Will never did know how long they stared at each other, but only Darren returning with a flushed face broke the spell. Aiden drank the rest of his first pint and then emptied the second pint down his neck in three huge gulps. He then stood up, looking at Darren first, and then for much longer at Will.

  ‘I’m going home. I should be with my family,’ he declared.

  Will felt his heart tell him to stand up and loudly declare ‘I will come with you’. Instead his mouth froze, as though he had suffered a stroke. He didn’t want to go back to Aiden’s house. He didn’t want to think any more. He wanted to be eleven again and cycling with his friends, death something that was seen on television.

  He suddenly realised things had changed. He wanted to feel alive. He needed to get drunk. He would like to know if the barmaid had a friend. He joked to them both, ‘I should stay and make sure Darren doesn’t resume his fighting ways.’ He almost winced as his weasel words hung in the smoky air, see-through and without value.

  He watched Aiden leave; his shoulders drooped. He didn’t go after him though and as he sipped his beer, he could almost feel a small piece of what was good in him dying, gone forever. He thought he would never feel so wretched again, but he would be wrong.

  13

  12th August 1992

  The letter from Darren was propped against the teapot on the dining room table. He ran his hand along the shiny wood towards it and carried it into the lounge. He hated that table. It had in effect been his homework prison for the last seven years. He smiled to himself, well not anymore he thought. In two days they would pick up their A-Levels results and that would be it. No more study and no more being shackled to the same spot night after night.

  Despite his habit of revising with a few beers and usually a James Herbert novel, wedged and therefore concealed, in his massive Biology textbook, he suspected he would pass at least two of his exams and that would be enough to go to South Bank Polytechnic to study Economics and Politics. He shrugged at that. He knew he wouldn’t be going though. His parents did too. They had given up chastising him about his ambivalence to it all and one night a few weeks back his dad had taken him to his local and quietly and slowly had a word.

  ‘I would say that it’s probably best if you didn’t go on to university. It’s expensive and even though we are happy to support you, we would need you to tell us that you really want to go. That you will study hard when you get there. Make it worthwhile. We don’t think you can.’

  Will had looked him in the eye and found he couldn’t really disagree. He didn’t even reply, just sat opposite him with a resigned look on his face. He didn’t even know where South Bank was apart from somewhere in London. He knew nothing about the course and absolutely nothing about any facet of college life there. He had only applied there because everyone else had been applying to places and it was one of the few places that would take his predicted grades.

  Will and his dad spent a decent night together in the end, and he had even bought some of the ‘A job will be the making of you’ bullshit his dad was selling. It had been funny to start with; watching his old man get sloshed and tired. However it soon became depressing as even though he tried to hide it, as his dad got drunk and reading between the lines, he knew he had disappointed them. He could feel his relationship changing with his parents and knew he would be moving out soon whatever he did. One day he would go home a success he thought, but God knows at what.

  As he slid Darren’s letter open he paused and thought about the last year at school. He had known he was getting left behind but felt powerless to stop it. The other kids in his year, and by this he meant everyone, were constantly chatting about grades and courses, where they were going to study and what they were going to be. They were full of talk of great seats of learning such as St Andrews, Durham, Loughborough and of course Oxford and Cambridge. They came in to the form room bursting with enthusiasm after going to visit their prospective colleges, having met the tutors and seen the halls of residence.

  Will had encountered none of this, hadn’t even known it was possible. He didn’t even know who to ask about it, or whether he even wanted to. The other three places he had applied for had rejected him and whilst it had been a bit depressing getting the rejections, on balance he had been more relieved than upset. South Bank had been the fly in the ointment but he hadn’t even rung them to enquire as to things and knew now he never would.

  The worst students to listen to were the ones who stated ‘I’m going to be a doctor’, or ‘I’m going to go into law’. How the hell did they know this and why couldn’t he think of anything to do. Any sense of direction would be fine, so he suspected he would cling to his dad’s ‘A job will be the making of him’ charade and see what panned out.

  Carl needed four A grades to get into Cambridge University, which was a foregone conclusion and the only option his parents had given him had been Mathematics, or Mathematics with Physics. His father had been the polar opposite of Will’s parents. He had taken Carl to meet his old tutor at his house for afternoon tea, helped him fill his application form in and generally encouraged him all the way. Carl though didn’t seem to be relishing the prospect, a little look of distress arriving upon his face whenever it was mentioned.

  Poor old Carl he thought. A single child with the weight of expectation on his gifted narrow shoulders as much a heavy burden as an excessive load on an elderly donkey. His parent’s ambition had deprived him of many joys. He had missed out on clubs, nights out, holidays and generally just being a child due to his parent-imposed crippling homework regime. Girls were a total enigma to him. Even though his parents had loosened the reins fractionally since the last exam, this afternoon’s trip to the cinema being a good example, his potential was still continuously dangled in front of him like an enormous slippery carrot. Occasionally to touch, but never to hold.

  Thinking of a donkey reminded him of one of Darren’s previous letters entitled ‘The Mule’. The total contents were one small paragraph which stemmed from one of the exasperated teachers calling Aiden a thick mule as he tried to navigate a fairly simple algebra query in front of the class and they had often kidded him with the nickname.

  ‘Donkeys form very strong bonds with other donkeys and animals and even short term separation from a companion can be stressful. Donkeys show limited fear response to novel situations and this can be mistaken for stubbornness rather than fear. Teaching a donkey requires a different mind-set; they cannot be rushed into doing something they don’t want to do!’

  Will had laughed his head off. He hadn’t mentioned the letter to Aiden, even though he doubted he would have minded, but it was good to see Darren’s sense of humour was intact.

  It had just been Will, Aiden and Carl at the cinema today. The three muskehounds as Carl liked to call them. They hadn’t seen Darren for eighteen months now, the regular letters to Will the only contact they received. After the ubiquitous questioning of Carl’s age at the new Showcase cinema they had sat at the back for ‘Basic Instinct’. Aiden always sat at the side, one thick leg down the aisle, the other taking more than his fair share of the foot space. Carl sat next to him automatically as his slight frame and Aiden’s gargantuan one almost made two normal sized people. Will still had Carl pushed over onto him and he had chuckled as he felt Carl tense at the beaver shot part of the film.

  Aiden however had become very popular with the ladies. In one perverse way Freja’s death had been the making of him. Aiden did not talk about Freja and any attempts by Will or Carl to do so were more liable to push him into a distant uncommunicative state. Aiden spent a lot of time now with that sleepy look on his face that Will remembered so well from their first day, but the sloppy grin was generally missing and most of the time Will had no idea what he was thinking.

&n
bsp; Aiden’s big adjustment had been when he had a rugby ball in his hand. The first game of the season had been as shocking as the news on that awful day. Will had caught the ball from the kick off and jogged toward the opposition, allowing Aiden to get up to speed on his shoulder. He had then, as usual, slipped the ball back to Aiden to hit them and break the line. His lumbering gentle giant friend though had vanished.

  What hit those first players was angry. A powerful, pumping, driving, aggressive force of nature, like a tsunamic wall of water, clogged with huge logs and boulders, washing everything before it. Try after try was scored, the only celebration a long glance at the heavens and then a straight armed point at Will wherever he was on the field. The pent up emotion and unanswered feelings had found an outlet and it was nigh on unstoppable.

  As the season had progressed Aiden had thrown himself into training and the large plump boy had turned into a granite battering ram. They had won the league and cup two years running at a canter despite the rest of the team being decidedly mediocre. Will had reached six foot in height and filled out, but had reached a plateau in skill and he knew his rugby career would end as the sixth form did. He missed the camaraderie with Darren, often passing the ball to the empty space where he would have been. Aiden never rebuked him but he was all business when he was on the pitch.

  Other teams had turned up full of confidence, snapping the ball around in complex manoeuvres, beautiful tries and pleasing technique. However they were powerless to prevent Aiden’s tide of wrath. By the second half they were broken, minds and bones and the scouts came calling. Aiden however didn’t want to listen. He told them he wanted to focus on his exam results which oddly he did. Freja had been academically gifted and Aiden had tried to fill a gap for his parents for which he was never intended. He had been offered and accepted a course at Loughborough University. A place with a strong rugby tradition and also where his sister had been heading before fate interjected. Ostensibly he needed three C’s, but Will suspected they would take him if he turned up with his cycling proficiency test certificate in one hand and a rugby ball in the other. Will didn’t even know what he was going to study and suspected that Aiden might not have known either.